


Anointment

by surprisepink



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27304759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surprisepink/pseuds/surprisepink
Summary: Ever the traveler, Hermes knows that there's nothing more seductive than the unknown. He supposes Charon must feel the same way about him.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 249
Collections: Hades Kink Meme





	Anointment

**Author's Note:**

> For a [kink meme prompt](https://hadeskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/741.html?thread=11237#cmt11237):
>
>> Rubbing oil on hermae, stone depictions of gods, it's said to bring good luck. Logic dictates that rubbing Hermes himself would bring _extra_ good luck.

Hermes can slow down, when he wants to.

There’s always work to be done, always reasons for him to flit between Olympus and earth and Hades and back again, and it’s hard to catch up after even a moment of leisure, so he’s usually hard-pressed to find _reason_ to stop moving. Take too long of a break and the souls will pile up. What remains of kings and paupers alike will be moaning, writhing, begging to be taken to their final resting place, and it’s _quite_ an unpleasant sight. Hermes’ work is thankless, seeing as most of them didn’t particularly want to die, but his job performance is flawless, thank you very much, and he’s proud of the work he does.

Mortals who still live appreciate him, at least. They carve figures of his likeness, and though he has to laugh at how little resemblance some of the herma have to him, it’s still a welcome form of devotion. When they get into the habit of placing statues of him along roads, good luck charms for travelers to touch on their journeys in hopes of a blessing, Hermes can’t help but enjoy the absurdity of it. It’s that, more than the offerings of oil and prayers that he enjoys. Nobody can quite _prove_ that he’s looking upon them and smiling, but he makes sure that they know by repaying them in kind with little moments of good fortune on their travels.

He’s always had a fondness for a particular group of mortals, the ones who just so happen pass by the herma often: vagabonds, merchants, heralds. Those who also find it hard to stay still, who find fulfillment in transience. For them, the blessings are doubled; for those who wish to anoint him each time, tripled. He has a good laugh at their rituals, nonetheless, and the rather unique way they’ve come to depict him.

“Some of the statues get very _detailed_ , you know,” he tells his audience of one; Charon is, as per usual, quiet but captivated. “Though you wouldn’t have much of a chance to see them, would you? What with you spending all of your time down here and all. You’d laugh if you saw, I think—just the head and the phallus and not much else. All the important bits.”

One might suppose that Charon isn’t capable of laughter, but Hermes knows better. Thought a bystander might mistake it for a strained cough, he’s laughing now, and his face is lit up with a joy that only his closest confidants could recognize for what it is. Even other gods speak of Charon in hushed tones, a quiet, almost frightened reverence. Dionysus once asked if they _really_ got along or if Hermes was just frightfully optimistic about the good intentions of his professional associate.

But talking to Charon doesn’t require optimism, just persistence and determination. And sometimes—like now, as Hermes is enjoying a hard-earned rest—a willingness to communicate without words. No words are needed now, especially, when Charon brings his mouth to Hermes’, kissing him like only he can.

And this? This is when Hermes doesn’t mind taking his time.

Most don’t like to stand too close to Charon—not even his brothers, apparently. The smoke makes them choke. But Hermes takes it gratefully, and Charon’s moans reverberate through Hermes’ body as he accepts the kiss, tastes him, breathes him in. Charon smells like the finest of incense and he tastes like the joy of travel and Hermes knows it sounds ridiculous to say as much but it’s hard not to be ridiculous when the essence of his lover is filling his lungs like this.

When Charon’s hand wanders to lift his clothing, exposing him to the surprising chill of the underworld, there’s no need for him to speak his intentions, but Hermes is glad to answer the unsaid question regardless.

“I always have time for this, darling—for _you_ ,” he says, and Charon groans his approval. Being a makeshift merchant just as much as he is a boatman, Charon always manages to find exactly what he wants, producing necessities out of seemingly nowhere. This time, it’s a vial of oil, and he pours some into his hands, rubs it around in his hands to warm it. Hermes isn’t sure how his lover manages to be so _warm_ , given where he comes from and who he is, but he knows better than to ask questions. It’s more interesting this way.

“Maybe you have been watching, hm? Got some ideas from the mortals who pray to me.” Hermes continues as Charon wraps his hand around Hermes’ cock, generously coating it with the oil, anointing Hermes with his touch. “You aren’t the first one to do this, not by a long shot.”

But Charon does it _best_ , strokes him with long, callused fingers _just so_ , and Hermes allows himself to let go, to be pleasured. Deliveries can come to a standstill for a while; souls will have to wait their turn to be taken to their resting place. Thanatos knows they both do good work, and he’s learned to put up with them taking a break now and again. If he thinks it’s just to put their feet up and split a nectar, well, he doesn’t need to be corrected.

Hermes has learned to recognize the noises Charon makes for what they are: not words, per se, not language, but the way he communicates nonetheless. The inflection of his voice is different when he’s pleased, excited, annoyed. When he’s _eager_ , like he is now, to take Hermes apart with his touch. His voice is like the sweetest of hymns then, and Hermes could listen to his lover sing his praises for eternity.

Hermes easily joins in the song, sighs in time with each of Charon’s strokes, spreads his legs winder as Charon’s oil-slicked hands pleasure him. With his other hand Charon explores Hermes’ body, shows appreciation for the strength of his thighs, the sensitivity of his nipples, the curve of his ass.

Charon treats each inch of him like it’s something precious, unique. He’d barely been with an Olympian god in polite company and never with one like _this_ , he once explained. Few if any of them in the underworld have, and so Hermes’ body is a curiosity as much as it is a treasure, and Hermes is glad to offer himself like this, groin bare and nipples stiff under thin fabric.

Hermes has explored Charon like this, too, and his body is _indescribable_. Even now, he aches to touch it and allow his lover the same pleasure. But Charon tells him _no, not yet_ and _we don’t have time_ and _today, I want to please you_. Hermes wants to scream that they have all of the time in the goddamn world, that he doesn’t care about getting his job done now, not when Charon’s looking at him like he shines brighter than the stars.

The gods provide the harvest and they helped mortals learn how to make all matter of things but they did _not_ tell them to anoint their statues with oil. Sometimes, Hermes thinks, they come up with the very best ideas all on their own.

Then Charon thumbs the head of Hermes’ cock _just so_ and undoes him completely, and Hermes comes with a shout. Charon sighs as cum splashes across his hand and Hermes’ belly, taking a moment to admire his work. _I hope that was an adequate offering_ he seems to say, more or less.

Hermes laughs and Charon joins him, tufts of purple smoke filling the air. “You’ve always got more than enough to give me,” he says, flipping up the brim of Charon’s hat. It’s easier that way to kiss him again, to inhale his essence for maybe the last time today before they need to get back to work. “Supposed to bring you good luck, you know, to anoint me on your travels. God of boundaries and all that.”

As a way of responding, Charon groans.

“You’re right,” says Hermes, “You’d know better than anyone.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh, Happy Halloween?
> 
> Follow my [fic twitter](https://twitter.com/surprisepink_) for ~exciting~ behind-the-scenes info.


End file.
